


Whiskey Dick

by pinkchubbiebunnie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Ron, Auror Ron Weasley, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Power Imbalance, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, smashing stuff to get out your emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24724366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkchubbiebunnie/pseuds/pinkchubbiebunnie
Summary: Working as a secretary in the Ministry of Magic’s Auror Office would seem like a pretty boring or even thankless job to most. And those people, for the most part, would be right. But it seemed that tonight, you would be getting some long overdue excitement. Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader. Smut.
Relationships: Ron Weasley/Reader, Ron Weasley/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 153





	Whiskey Dick

**Author's Note:**

> this was requested on tumblr so I decided to play around with it. there needs to be more Ron smut in the world. I hope to write smut for other HP characters in the future -Tanisha<3

You immediately knew something was wrong when Ron stormed right past you. Most evenings, when he had to come back to spend a tiring night filling out his paperwork before handing it to you to be filed away, he would say hello. Give you a warm smile at least, if he was in a rush. Some higher ups at the Ministry could be regarded as thinking of and quite clearly treating their secretaries as nothing more than the help, nothing more significant than furniture that could get them their morning tea. 

But Ron clearly thought of you as a person. Treated you like one. An equal. Someone with a set of skills, who had been hired for good reason. Someone who helped him. Someone that he needed and that his office would not function without. 

So when he slammed his office door behind him without so much as looking your way - it did cause a bit of worry to grow in your heart. 

He was enraged. That much became immediately obvious to you. 

Ron had always been someone who was known for his temper. Feared among new Auror recruits and wanted suspects alike. But he had grown graceful at controlling his boiling anger over the years - especially after the number of reprimands and disciplinary actions that were on his record for temperament related incidents. 

Of course, the Ministry could never bring themselves to fire him. What kind of idiots would sack one of the wizards responsible for taking down Voldemort himself? If that wasn't a gleaming resume that could erase any future incident, you didn’t know what was. He was also the only Auror in the department who had a Muggle driver’s license, something he had pursued in his own time after reminiscing about his fondness of stealing his Dad’s enchanted flying Ford Anglia. So he was the only one who could easily blend in to travel around and investigate in Muggle areas, which was necessary a lot of the time. He and Harry had spent most of their time in the early days after the war sitting in Ron’s Muggle car, casing Muggle neighbourhoods, looking for wanted Death Eaters hiding out in the places you’d least expected to find them. 

But of course, that temper, that sharp edge in an otherwise adorable, lovable, and overall admirable personality never kept you from developing an insanely inappropriate crush on him. How cliche - pining over your boss. And no matter how many times you blushed when he called you "love" or stared too long at his forearms when he rolled up the sleeves of his shirts, no matter how many times you masturbated to thoughts of him alone in your bed at night - you always tried your hardest to keep things absolutely professional. 

He was single, after the dissolve of his epically chaotic and publicly gruesome relationship with Hermione Granger, but he was almost ten years your senior and your fucking boss. It was not a line you were willing to cross just to fulfill a few (every single thought that consumed you when you looked at him and heard his voice) late night fantasies. 

Before you could sort out bad ideas from emotion, you found yourself rising from your spot at your tiny secretary desk and knocking on his door. 

"Sir?" You addressed him the way you always did, rapping your knuckles gently on the frosted glass section that was etched proudly with his name and title. 

When he did not respond, your concern grew. Though you swore you could hear something coming from within the walls of the office, so to satisfy your concerns, you gently pressed your ear to the door. 

"Fucking Viktor Krum." Ron was growling to himself, his voice the harshest tone of upset you had ever heard it. Unfortunately, your concern only grew. "Tells me I'm too wild, need to get my temper under control. Can't have kids. Bloody fucking liar. It was always  _ fucking. Viktor. Krum. _ " 

He put emphasis on each word, gritting his teeth as though it caused him a great deal of pain just to say the name. You wondered for a moment what a retired Quidditch star had to do with him being so very pissed off, but that line of questioning soon died off in your mind when you heard the very distinct splash of whiskey being poured into a shallow glass. You only held the knowledge that it was whiskey because he and Harry preferred a specific brand - a Muggle brand that they liked to celebrate with when they closed a particularly hard case. And he had just asked you to go into London the other day and fetch them a new bottle after they had drained theirs celebrating the destruction of the last of Bellatrix Lestrange's Horcruxes. 

He didn’t usually drink out of anger. He was normally quite a happy, bubbly drunk. You had declined the few times that he had invited you to partake in the celebration with him and Harry, wanting to keep that line between boss and friend and potential lover very clearly drawn, but you had always enjoyed how bright eyed and red faced he looked. How for once he did look truly care-free. You hated to believe that now he had to drown his sorrows. That he couldn’t just simply float away with his giggles and fall asleep light and happy. 

You heard a dull clanky thud - his empty glass hitting the desk again. How drunk was he getting? 

You wondered if you should go and see if Harry was still in his office, perhaps Ron would need someone to help him get home… 

"Y/N!" He yelled your name suddenly, and you had to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from gasping out loud. You worried immediately that he would call you out for standing in front of the door and eavesdropping on him this entire time. After all, it would not have been difficult for him to see your figure through the frosted glass. "Get in here!" 

You were slightly taken aback by the rudeness of his tone, such a contrast from the complete and total manners he always treated you with, but chose to ignore it in light of your thankfulness that he didn't seem to mind that you had been standing there for so long. 

You opened the door in a flash, keeping your feet planted and poking your head inside. 

Ron was in quite a dissary - his long leather coat thrown across the back of his chair, his tie completely discarded somewhere, his black button up shirt with sleeves rolled up (a sure sign that he was very fucking done with the day), his shaggy red locks in complete disarray from having his stressed fingers combed through them so many times that night. Slumped back in his chair with his thighs spread wide, a stance of pure power and anger, his grey trousers pulling tight over the Quidditch toned muscles of his thighs, his brow heavy with the thoughts that were clearly plaguing him. 

"Yes, Sir?" You tried to keep your voice as normal as possible. Cheerful, upbeat, and giving no indications that you were worried about his current state or incredibly attracted to his unprofessional appearance at the moment. 

"Get in here and close the fucking door." He demanded harshly as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. 

Him, someone who was normally so polite and professional, swearing at you with no restraint - it made your pussy jump. The only other time you had ever heard him use such foul language was when he was telling the recruits what idiots they were being or honestly, in your dreams.

You couldn’t help but follow his demand without question, immediately feeling suffocated and hot in the tiny space. You desperately wanted to open the door again; to bail out and run away. But another part of you was begging to see where this interaction was going. He was clearly feeling unrestrained with the alcohol in his system, and this is the first time he had been in such a state with Harry nowhere to be seen. If you were smart, you would use every bit of self control you had in your body to clean him up and help get him home and maintain your dignity at your job - but god damn, your desires running hot through your body were lowering your IQ by the minute. 

"What is it that you need, Sir?" You continued to speak in a polite voice, trying your best to ignore the blush growing on your cheeks and the throbbing ache growing between your legs. 

Ron was staring at the amber liquid in his glass, held gingerly in his large hand, leaned back gently in his desk chair. The other hand gripped the arm of his desk chair as though he was trying to strangle the very life out of the wood, and you had to resist the urge to lick your lips at the way the veins bugled out of his forearm from the applied pressure. 

"Is there something that I just don't bloody understand about women?" This query sounded eerily calm. Especially after the rage filled rantings you had heard from the other side of the door. 

You had absolutely no idea how to answer the question. You guessed that he was only asking you because you were a woman. But of course, he had been scorned in the past. As was public knowledge. So he was probably looking for a very specific answer. Wanting to know that the particular folly of that relationship was not on him. And as sadly public as their falling out had been - after watching it all go down, you probably could have told him that it wasn't his fault. It didn't seem like either of their faults, really. Just like they weren't really right for each other. 

"I don't think so." You sighed out after a moment too long of thinking. Ron still hadn't looked at you yet. After you spoke, his eyes shifted from the apparently oh so interesting glass to you. His gaze felt like the weight of a hippogriff sitting on your back, and you quickly felt pressured to say something else. "I don't think it's you. Or women. In general." 

He finally placed the glass back down on the desk. The gentle clink shook you to the very core - you were too hot and too nervous being in his presence like this, and you wanted to either sit down or run away. 

"Well what the fuck is it then?" His voice was a sudden boom in the tiny space, and before you even knew what was happening, the glass of whiskey was flying past your head and smashing into the stone wall beside the door. 

The suddenness of it made you jump, but you couldn't deny that some part of you, the part that thirsted after his power, the part that ached for him to lose control  _ on you _ , was aching even harder between the legs as you knelt down to pick up the pieces of shattered glass. It would take but a moment to separate the pieces of glass from the liquid to repair the vessel with a simple spell. 

"Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry." Ron was quick to apologize, rushing from his seat and kneeling down beside you to try and help clean up his own mess. 

"It's fine, really." You quickly ushered him away, plucking the pieces of glass out of his hands. 

He sighed deep in his chest. 

"It was a present from Hermione." His voice was somewhere between mournful and bitter. You still couldn't tell if he hated her for all she had put him through or if he did want her back. You hated to be so bitter, but you hoped it was the former. "A pair of real crystal tumblers. She said me and Harry didn't need to  _ drink out of the bottle like juveniles  _ anymore." He did an impression of her nasally tone, giving a small chuckle at the end of his sentence. 

You couldn't help but laugh. "As if that's the thing that makes you and Harry juvenile." 

You dropped the pieces of glass on the floor. It was likely he didn't want this salvaged. It was a reminder of something he didn't need to remember. Probably why he broke it in the first place. 

Ron stood, and overwhelmingly, you felt the power of his presence above you. You turned slightly, bringing your attention from the mess to where he was towering above you. For some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to rise up to his level. It felt so oddly  _ right _ being on your knees in front of him. Especially so light headed, so  _ hot _ , so distractingly pained between your thighs. 

He stared down at you with a hardened gaze. And past the clenched shelf of his jaw and the ungodly distracting bulge that had been forming in his pants since he got the whiskey in his system (oddly enough, 'whiskey dick' always meant something very different for Weasleys) that was only worsened now that he saw you in this position - you could see the want blooming in his eyes. 

"I really don't think there's anything wrong with you." You were surprised with yourself when you managed to form real, coherent words with your voice. "I just think you haven't found the right woman yet." 

He then made a terribly bold move. Eyes still locked with yours, his hand crept to the front of his trousers and started stroking his cock through the thin fabric. He let out a relieved sigh, clearly grateful to have some kind of contact on his aching cock, and the sound sent a flood of wetness spilling onto your already soaked panties. It was readily apparent from the definition and position of the outline, he was not wearing any underwear. You bit your lip as your gaze now mauled over his freckled hand, addicted to the way his thick fingers groped the even thicker shaft - making such a show without even taking off his pants. 

"Open your fucking mouth." His deep voice sent chills down your spine, and you licked your lips before replying with a greedy:

"Yes, Sir."

Something that it still felt absolutely natural to call him while in this position. 

Now having your consent, he rushed to unzip his pants. His cock was quite a sight to behold. An impossibly thick pale beast, smooth with visible purple veins; uncut, with a juicy pink head, emerging from an unkept nest of bright ginger pubic hair. Surprisingly, with not a single freckle on it. You guessed he didn't get a lot of sun down there. He didn't let you behold this sight for long, seeing as all too soon he was using the hand that wasn't mindlessly pumping his cock to grab a handful of your hair tight, which made you whine out, and taking advantage of that whine to shove his cock deep down your throat. 

“Fuck, such a perfect mouth.” He grunted lowly. 

He was not gentle with you. Not even close. 

He used his grip on the back of your hair to keep your head still, exactly where he wanted you, as he thrusted his cock past your lips, roughly fucking your mouth. And you could do no more than simply dig your nails into his thighs, stealing a breath in through your nose whenever you could, and take it. 

It seemed his mercy had flown out the door when Viktor Krum had pissed him off so disastrously early that day. God - you had to find Viktor and thank him later. Before this you had only dreamed of Ron abusing your throat to make himself cum. 

“Always knew you were a little whore.” He grunted at you. “Wear those little skirts to tease me on purpose.” May or may not be true. “Knew you wanted to choke on my cock.” 

You moaned around him at the last accusation, squeezing his thighs harder to confirm his suspicions. You could feel the slickness of yourself between your own thighs as you moaned around him, truly enjoying the feeling of his thickness stretching out your jaw, which made him groan out into the air unrestrained. He gripped your hair even tighter, making your scalp sting delightfully as he pounded out every ounce of his stress into your aching jaw. 

Something between moments or years, as you were caught up in the light headedness the lack of oxygen was starting to cause and the gorgeous song his pants and desperate moans were forming, his hips lost their practiced rhythm and began to sputter off into a desperate jaunt - chasing his orgasm down the back of your tight, wet, and now very sore throat. 

“Gonna cum.” He whined at you. “You better swallow it all.” 

Even in his desperation, the last few words were laced with that sharp authority that made your pussy clench. So of course when the hot release came spurting down your throat, as much as you choked and struggled, you swallowed every last drop. 

When he was finished, he yanked you off his softening cock by the hold he still had on your hair, dropping you, still not so gently onto the cold wooden floor. You coughed and sputtered, gasping in oxygen, trying desperately to compose yourself as he put himself away and zipped up his trousers. 

You could only imagine the mess you looked. Your previously neat hairstyle having been wrecked by his hands, your face bright red from the overwhelming heat of it all, your lips abused and swollen, spit and probably cum having dripped down your chin that you were now trying to wipe up messily with your hands. 

“I think that’ll be all for tonight, Y/N.” He informed you, sounding so oddly composed for someone who had just fallen apart moments ago. He was eyeing up your appearance, a glint in his eye telling you that he was very amused by the way he had wrecked you. 

You wanted very badly to ask how this had changed the nature of the relationship between the two of you. You wanted very badly to ask if this was only going to be a one time thing. You wanted very badly to ask him to return the favor. 

But your eyes, wanting very badly to escape that mischievous glint in his, had landed on a small piece of glass that was on the floor and you were immediately reminded that if there was one thing he needed, it was something uncomplicated. A woman who would not ask him such complicated questions. Someone who could handle all of him without constantly trying to change him. 

You were the one who filed his paperwork. And your curiosity liked to get the better of you, so you had seen the gruesome details of his reports more than a few times. You knew the things he went through on a daily basis. If there was anybody who needed uncomplicated in his personal life - it was Ron Weasley. 

You looked up at him with big eyes as he collected his coat, probably abandoning his tie here in the office altogether. 

“You sure you don’t need anything else, Sir?” 

You were almost hoping he would change his mind. That he would ask you to strip and get on his desk. 

“No. Thank you for asking, love.” The nickname made you go lightheaded again. 

He found the handkerchief in his jacket and handed it to you, and you took it gratefully and wiped off your mouth and chin. He then took out his wand and waved it gently, making the mess behind you completely disappear. When you looked up he was offering a hand to you, and you took it, standing up from the ground finally. You were deeply surprised that your shaking legs were able to hold your weight. 

“Would you like me to walk you out?” He was being so damn polite again. Moments after using you like his personal cum dump. The shift of his actions made your pussy clench yet again. That he could be so brutal and return to such a sweet man. The best of both worlds. 

“No thank you.” You shook your head. You would need a few moments to sit at your desk. Compose yourself. Have a quick orgasm in your chair just underneath your skirt because surely it was late enough that nobody else would be around. 

“I don’t know what you’d need to stick around for.” He commented as he opened his office door and escorted you out into the large hallway, where your receptionist desk was. “I was at the Interdepartmental Summit today, so I don’t have anything to file.” 

You smiled at him. “Probably just gonna organize some things. Harry wanted some of your files on the Lestrange case as references for his book, so…” 

“I’m sure he can wait for them.” Ron slipped his arms through his jacket. “You should go home and go to sleep.” He told you, slight concern and that deadly authority lacing his voice. “I want you well rested if you’re gonna cum on my cock like a good girl tomorrow.” 

You suddenly felt light headed again. 

“Yes, Sir.” 


End file.
